


If You Come for the (Future) Queen, You Best Not Miss

by madziraphale



Series: Thalia Amell and Co. [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Alistair Deserves Better, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dragon Age: Origins Quest - The Landsmeet, F/M, Fix-It of Sorts, Fluff, Justice For Amell 2020, Mild Angst, Multiple Wardens (Dragon Age), eat my shorts arl eamon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-28
Updated: 2020-04-28
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:49:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23898550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/madziraphale/pseuds/madziraphale
Summary: Alistair is meant to be king, but if that means leaving the love of his life, then what's the point of any of it? Amell, however, is having none of it.
Relationships: Alistair/Amell (Dragon Age), Alistair/Female Amell (Dragon Age), Alistair/Female Warden (Dragon Age), Alistair/Warden (Dragon Age)
Series: Thalia Amell and Co. [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1726957
Comments: 3
Kudos: 17





	If You Come for the (Future) Queen, You Best Not Miss

**Author's Note:**

> Hey all!
> 
> It's been a hot minute, hasn't it? I guess I should thank the quarantine for getting me sucked back into Dragon Age and, thus, reintroducing me into fic-writing. I'm back to leading the "the Amells are nobles in Kirkwall so let the girl be Queen" parade because fuck Eamon's "but she's a Mage" bs. 
> 
> I hope this 3-year gap hasn't totally ruined my writing. Let me know what you think! I've got more with this specific DA universe - with dual Wardens Amell and Surana - in the works that I'll hopefully be finishing soon! 
> 
> Stay safe & healthy out there, gang! <3

“Alistair will be the king, and I will serve by his side as queen.”

The Landsmeet fell into a beat of silence before the murmurs began. Shock, outrage, confusion, even some hints of consideration and approval, yet none of their comments mattered to Alistair as he locked eyes with the woman he loved. But, before Alistair could think to speak, Arl Eamon stepped between him and Amell. 

“Now, dear girl, I know you and Alistair have your little...dalliance, but you simply cannot be the queen,” Eamon reasoned, though the note of distaste in his voice was evident. “Besides, along with being a mage, you’re not of noble birth! Do you truly think the people of Ferelden could handle such an upset in these trying times?”

Amell’s gaze landed on Eamon before flitting back to Alistair. Rather than wearing a heart-broken look to match her lover’s, Amell was smirking at him. And, Maker’s breath, Alistair knew that smirk all too well—-Amell had a plan. For the first time since this whole debacle to make him king began, Alistair felt a spark of hope for his future. 

“May I?” Amell glanced over to Surana, who stood practically bouncing in place with excitement. To her right, Zevran wore a smirk of his own. 

_ By the Maker,  _ Alistair thought,  _ does  _ everyone  _ know about this little scheme except for me? _

Surana straightened her posture before striding out to meet her friend, offering a large, leather-bound tome. Amell took the book without hesitation, nodding her thanks to her fellow mage before turning to address the Landsmeet once more. 

“This ledger,” she boomed, wielding the tome as if it were more dangerous than any blade, “contains the names of all of the noble families of Ferelden’s allies...specifically in the Free Marches.”

The murmurs in the hall quieted some, but a few remained, voicing the utter confusion that rattled around in Alistair’s mind.  _ The Free Marches? What did that have to do with anything?  _

Amell let the book fall into her free hand, opening to a page that had been previously bookmarked. Alistair had found her and Surana in the library in the days leading up to the Landsmeet, both mages up to their ears in books. Alistair hadn’t found it  _ too  _ peculiar at the time; he knew how much Amell enjoyed her books—-it still surprised him sometimes how someone so intelligent could even stand to hold a conversation with him. Clearly, Morrigan thought he lacked the mental capacity for anything other than yes or no questions. 

“Here,” Amell continued, drawing Alistair’s attention back to her, “is the list of the noble families of Kirkwall, one of Ferelden’s staunchest allies, especially in trade.” She pointed dramatically at the page, clearly making a show out of the whole deal. Alistair found himself holding back a laugh. He knew how little she respected much of the nobility—-to be fair, since she’d left the Circle, the only nobles she’d met had been traitors or had made Alistair’s childhood truly hellish. More than that, despite her assertiveness in the right situations, Amell  _ loathed  _ being the center of attention. For her to be doing this, all for him...it was a true sign of how deeply she cared. 

“And  _ here _ ,” she held the book up to Eamon’s face, almost mockingly, and Alistair found himself leaning in for a better view, “are the names of my kin: Noble House Amell. My grandfather, Cassius Amell,” she pointed to one name, “and my father, Tristan Amell. You may check the records of the Circle of Magi, Arl Eamon, but I certainly trust the late King Marric’s record-keeping, don’t you?” 

Until that moment, Alistair didn’t think he’d ever seen Eamon at a loss for words. The Arl simply gaped at Amell, nothing but a confused gurgle coming from his throat. The discussions between Ferelden’s nobility slowly increased in urgency until a voice cut above the din. 

“Aye, the girl’s done more for Ferelden in mere months than Cailan did in five years as our king! If she’s noble, I say let her have it!” 

In the name of Andraste herself, Alistair promised he would one day find this random nobleman and raise him to whatever noble rank he wanted. The outburst was followed by more than a few cries of dissension, but they were quickly overwhelmed by resounding agreements. Alistair glanced throughout the hall in utter disbelief. He looked to Arl Eamon, finding the man had finally figured out how to close his mouth, though his expression was still very pinched with anger. 

Finally, the future king looked back to Amell, his fellow Grey Warden, the love of his life, and now—-the thought hit him hard in the gut, nearly knocking the wind out of him—-his future wife and Queen of Ferelden. She stood proud against the backdrop of the Landsmeet, as if daring any more of the nobles to challenge her, lest they face the same fate as Loghain. 

But, it was more than that. Amell fixed all of her focus on Alistair, her amber eyes full of adoration, her ruby-painted lips sporting the dimpled smile he knew she only reserved for him. To put such affection on full display in front of so many strangers...all Alistair could do was return the look and concentrate on keeping his heart in his chest. 

As the background conversation grew louder, Eamon raised in hand in an attempt to silence the crowd. If they followed his instructions, Alistair didn’t notice. He had taken his first tentative step towards Amell, and it was if he’d stepped into a tunnel. By the way her smile grew as he got closer—-and the brief interruption of a joyful shriek from where Surana and their other friends stood—-Alistair figured that Amell’s plan had worked. 

Once he’d reached her, Alistair found he couldn’t hold himself back. He scooped Amell from the ground, drew her into his chest, and kissed her deeply. All his love, his relief, his utter joy poured out of him, and all he could hope is that she felt it. Maker, he loved her. He loved her more than he could bear at times. The bit that he still found the most utterly confounding of all—-one he was still struggling to grapple with—-was that she loved him just as much. The way she returned the kiss spoke volumes of her feelings, though.

He faintly heard the tome slip from her hand, freeing it to cup his cheek as her other hand found its way into his hair. She’d completely muss it up, he knew, but he couldn’t care less. Not now. Not when he was kissing his love—-his  _ fiancee _ , of all things! 

By the time they parted, both out-of-breath and grinning like fools, the entire Landsmeet was cheering. Alistair finally set Amell back on her feet, though he refused to let go of her. The two Wardens stood clutched in each other’s arms, foreheads resting together, noses just barely brushing. 

“I, ah, I didn’t really ask but...will you marry me?” Amell whispered. He could hear her wry little smile, though all he could see was her molten eyes, burning with joy, relief, and, somehow, the faintest glints of apprehension. He could’ve laughed—-he  _ did _ laugh, but it only came out as a breathy chuckle.  _ Maker, did she really think he could refuse her anything? _

“My darling,” he finally spoke, his voice cracking with emotion, “I’ve been asking you that same question in my head for longer than I should ever admit.” He pressed a short kiss to the tip of her nose, his smile only growing as she giggled back at him, a hint of tears springing to her eyes. 

Before she could respond, they were both nearly bowled over by Surana, the elf’s height giving her the perfect wingspan to wrap them both in a tearful hug. The mage was soon joined by Grim, Amell’s mabari, who circled the couple eagerly as the rest of their friends approached to congratulate them. If he attempted to interrupt the happy moment, Arl Eamon found either the elated mabari or a stoic qunari blocking him from doing so. 

“You know, I’m relieved,” Alistair said, meeting the eyes of his dearest friends, his grip never leaving Amell, “now at least  _ someone  _ on the throne won’t mind talking to all the Orlesians.”


End file.
